Erixha stirs from a deep, dreamy slumber, raising her head from her bed of hoarded copper coins. With the sleepy motion, a few strays caught in her jade-like scales drop from her chin and throat, and a few more tumble from her slightly-paler underbelly as she stretches out, rising to all fours with an arch of the back of her sinuous, lithe, serpentine body and a clench of her paws' talons, gripping fistfuls of coins as she grounds herself. A gentle gust of air joins the soft sound of her soft moans of effort as she starts straining to stretch out her folded, membranous wings. The dragoness smacks her lips softly, some stray chips of dried paint of a dozen different hues break off and fall like multicoloured snowflakes from her muzzle. She idly sweeps the crackled paint chips aside with a paw, and descends to the lower level of her subterranean cave, situated in a quiet corner of the forest on the edge of a bayou. With a disinterested flick of her claw, she pops open the lid on a robust, enchanted Chest of Preserving, made to keep provisions in stasis until such a time as they're required. In Erixha's case, a variety of swamp, lake and river fish she'd caught herself serve as her food supply. She takes stock as she contemplatively chews a pawful of trout—starting to see the bottom of the chest again, she thinks. "I'll have to head out fishing this weekend, or maybe forage a few more herbs and fruits, as well?" She softly muses to herself, her voice hardly above a breathy whisper, yet deeply resonant enough to carry across her underground home. Once she finishes her breakfast, she clambers effortlessly along the rock walls of her cave, into a secluded chamber she uses for storage, hundreds upon hundreds of canvases stretched across wooden frames, all daubed in a dazzling variety of oil paints, watercolours and a few charcoal monochrome pieces of art. All of the artworks are signed the same way, with the name 'Erixha', in sweeping, looping characters. The dragoness herself takes a few moments to finger (or toe) through the stacks of artworks, as if seeking inspiration. She silently nods to herself, then picks up a blank canvas with her paw that she drapes in a offcut of thick leather, littered with tooth-marks. Satisfied that the canvas is protected, she gingerly closes her jaws around it, letting the leather cushion it from her fangs. "Shmellsh like guhd wevvuh." She remarks to herself, smelling the fine weather, carrying the subtle scent of pollen on the breeze as she clambers out of her cave, to a flat overlook just outside the mouth of the cave, her 'doorstep', as she calls it. Not that she speaks to anybody else, draconic or otherwise. Erixha is a solitary individual, she likes her privacy, and it is hers to keep in her own way. Though that doesn't mean she doesn't get lonesome from time to time. She daydreams often, gazing into the middle distance whilst lounging on the warmth of her sun-warmed patch of stone in the forest. The landscape immediately around her cave, she's already painted it in every direction, in every time of day, in every season. That was something she'd achieved in her first few years of painting. Though, from time to time, she does come back to see how her 'brushmanship' has improved to compare her progression. As of late, she's getting into more of the abstract than impressionist artistry. She paints her dreams, whilst they still linger in her mind in the mornings. She speaks to the canvas, too, as if confiding in her trusted confidant. Though, her monologues are primarily internal, for one very good reason. As she lays the canvas down on the stone, for want of an easel, Erixha puts the swatch of leather into one of her forepaws, clutching it and fiddling with it to focus. She clears her throat, and gently spits up her most precious possession, a single wooden paintbrush, littered with her tooth marks. She keeps hold of it, rolling it idly with her tongue to flick the residual saliva off it. She briefly returns inside, picks up her box of paints and palette, then lies down to begin painting.